To Watch The Games Go On
by Fantasy Noel
Summary: This story, in Haymitch's POV, is about his life before, during, and after the 50th Hunger Games. Enjoy!
1. The Journey Begins

**The start of Haymitch's journey. It starts off with a short clip of the arena, but that's not actually the real start. When writing this I originally wanted to end the chapter with ", but I'm not surprised.", but I realised then that it would make the chapter pretty short, so I added to it. Hope you enjoy Haymitch's story.**

**Updates will be once/twice a week, but I'm not sure yet. It will probably change, so please bear with me.**

"_Is that what happened to you?"_

"_No. My mother and younger brother. My girl. They were all dead two weeks after I was crowned victor. Because of that stunt I pulled with the force field. Snow had no one to use against me."_

_- Katniss and Haymitch, Mockingjay. Page 201._

As I rise up on my metal plate, I get a big surprise. The Arena; bright, colourful, almost friendly-looking. But I am not fooled.

I get poised to run, my eyes homing in on a knife, bag and other survival equipment I will need that are scattered close to the Cornucopia. And unlike anyone else, as the gong rings out, I am ready.

Today is the day of the Reaping. It is also a Quarter Quell, which means there will be a glorified, sadistic twist to the already terrifying Hunger Games. As I get ready, I think of Lucia, and how I am hoping against hope she doesn't get picked. I am also hoping against hope that I do not get picked, although the odds are not in either of our favour.

My family and I are ready, so we cross to District 12's already crowded square. There I meet Lucia, as I promised, and we talk before we have to get in line. We kiss before I let go of her hand and walk over to my area. The Mayor calls for everyone's attention and gives his speech. Then there is the reading of the card. The card is for every Quarter Quell, and on it reads the new promised horror the tributes will have to suffer through. The mayor takes the card out of the box, crosses to the microphone, and reads aloud:

"_As a reminder that two rebels died in the rebellion for each Capitol citizen, each district is required to send twice as many tributes"_

At first, I don't really understand. Then I do. _Twice as many tributes_. Instead of 24, there will be 48 innocent people in the arena. Well, the Capitol audience will be entertained, at least. But I don't care about the Capitol. I'm thinking of Lucia, with her 33 slips, and me, with 42, and how the odds are definitely not in our favour. Our escort, Shauna Mildeen, crosses to the glass ball. "Ladies first!" she chirps, as she does every year. Her fingers close around the first slip. "Maysilee Donner! I know her from school, but not well enough to know her properly. I know no one properly, apart from my family and, of course, Lucia.

Shauna keeps calling the names of the tributes, and when she finishes the girls, I am hugely relieved that Lucia was spared. But only for a moment. Even though she is safe, that doesn't mean I am.

Shauna draws the boy's names out one by one, and her lips are forming the last name as I find myself frozen with shock.

"_Haymitch Abernathy!"_

I walk stiffly up to the stage, wiping my face of emotions as Lucia is screaming; my family are all looking forlorn. The rest of the Reaping goes quickly by and I find myself alone in an exquisite room in the Justice building filled with the fanciest of items, although I'm sure the Capitol has better. My family walks in and we sit together for a while on the lounge, silent. Then the Peacekeepers are at the door and I hug them all, telling them I love them, that I won't ever forget them.

Lucia comes in next, and I tell her I will be alright, that I won't forget her and she tells me she loves me and she won't forget me either. She gives me a leather bracelet and tells me it can be my token. Then a Peacekeeper orders her out and I kiss her, and then she's gone. No one else comes, but I'm not surprised.

The train ride is extraordinary. I have never been on a train before, or any type of transport for that matter, except foot. The rooms are luxurious, much better than in the Justice Building. Our escort, Shauna, tells us to eat, wear or do anything; everything is at our disposal. I go into my room and lay face-down on the bed. My mind tries to process everything that has happened today, but it's simply impossible. Too much has happened and my mind is in a muddle. I'm thinking of home, of Lucia, and that I am going to die. My odds have taken a deep dive and there will be twice as many tributes as before, so chances are there will be many people stronger than myself. Sure, I'm strong enough, I'm definitely not short and I have a talent for throwing knives, but that won't compete with 70 pound male Careers who can throw a spear as far as I can throw a knife with dead accuracy. I'm going to have my hands full, but more so I'm going to die. It's obvious. There has only been one other Victor for District 12, and they won the first games and are dead. So no, the odds are definitely not in my favour.

Shauna calls me to dinner, and my eyes widen at the sight of so much rich, Capitol food. There's so much food it would feed my family for almost a year, and even then we would be full to the boot because, of course, we would be stuffing ourselves and never for that period of time, would we go hungry.

I can see my fellow tributes are thinking the same thing, because they all sit down immediately and start stuffing themselves. I do exactly the same, because it's so good and it wouldn't be a bad idea to put on some weight between now and the games. I might need it.

After we can't eat another thing, we all squeeze onto the small lounge to watch the recap of the Reapings. I'm thinking of the sheer amount of kids going to certain death. It looks like so many more people, but of course that's obvious, there is double the amount, after all.

I am exhausted from the events of the day, so I go out like a light as soon as I get back to my room. Then Shauna is calling us, telling to get ready for another big day. I drag myself out of bed, get changed and going out to the dining room for breakfast. I stuff myself again, and then the windows black out. We are all momentarily confused when I realise, as the windows become bright again, we are in the Capitol.

I realise I hate these people. The Capitol pedigrees that have always had enough and I scowl again after my initial surprise. They are all pointing, even waving at us as our tribute train slows and eventually stops at the station. They are excited, excited about our death for their entertainment. Oh, how I hate these people.

We go to the Training Centre, where the tributes will all stay until the Games. I press the number 12, and we shoot up into the sky. Then we are released until supper, which is in one hour. I find my room, and I am again surprised again at the fanciness of the place. The shower is amazing; with so many buttons I can't even imagine what they would do. There are many gadgets in my quarters, but I don't take much notice of them as I strip and have a shower. Then I get dressed in a plain shirt and trousers and head to the dining room to eat.

Dinner is even better than on the train, and I enjoy it thoroughly. But my scowl stays in place as I think of those clueless absurd-looking people who are betting on our longevity.


	2. Emotions

_**Chapter 2 of the series….This part includes the start of the games, and a cliff-hanger of sorts, because I love that sort of thing. Its an interesting one too…**_

_**The next update should be Monday, as I'm sticking to two updates a week for the moment.**_

'_And while the law of competition may be sometimes hard for the individual, it is best for the race, because it ensures the survival of the fittest in every department.'_

_- Andrew Carnegie_

Because I have never personally experienced it, what I didn't know about the chariot rides and interviews was how hard they were. I mean this is a few ways. It is hard, because you have no idea what to do, and it is painful, because I wanted to actually keep my leg hair for a bit. Unfortunately, that's not a luxury I am aloud to indulge myself in. This is all part of it, because I haven't even met my stylist yet. I keep a straight face, and although it is hard, I manage not to scream.

When I have finished being tortured, I meet my stylist, and he is exactly the same as the others from other districts. Stencilled, dyed, he even had light orange skin. Exactly like the other citizens of the Capitol. He put me in my outfit, which was an awful orange jumpsuit with a headlamp and pick axe. I felt like throwing the axe at his brain. This guy is a moron! What, in his twisted little mind, will this get us in the way of sponsors? Nothing. But obviously he doesn't realise that.

We all make our way down to the chariots. The music starts, and we climb on, all feeling ridiculous. When we roll out, the crowd almost goes silent. Of course, no one wants to see children dressed up as "miners". I scowl at them all as the crowd thaws a little and starts cheering, even though it is significantly quieter than for the rest of the tributes. We get to the city circle, where President Snow gives a speech, and then find ourselves back at the training centre. Finally.

I thought the worst of it was over, but it isn't. There are now the interviews to look forward to. Our mentor had to come up angles we would play up in our interviews. He didn't have to look hard for me. Sullen, and hostile. At least I don't have to try very hard.

The night comes and although I'm a bit nervous, I don't let it show. Like at the Reaping, I wipe my face of emotions. I'm in a simple black suit, with contrasting colours of grey and red on the tie and cuffs. When my name is called, I stand stiffly and walk over, sit down and don't say a word.

"Well Haymitch, what do you think of this year's games, being there one hundred percent more tributes?" Caesar Flickerman asks.

"Well, they're still going to be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds are roughly the same." I say, with little emotion. The crowd laughs, they love it, but I don't care. Caesar asks me a few more questions, and I am myself, replying as sullen as possible, until finally my time is up.

Back at the training centre, I'm getting ready to go down to training, where I will meet the tributes and train for 3 days. My mentor instructs me to play it average; save your real strengths for the private sessions. I agree to this and make my way down with the rest of District 12's tributes.

There are so many people, I don't know where to start, but I decide my best bet is to learn something I don't know, so I go over to the survival skills area and spend about an hour or two learning some life-saving information. I badly wanted to get my hands around a knife, but I realise now as I watch the Careers that it would be a bad idea to flaunt my skills in front of them. I stick to the plan, going around form station to station, keeping to myself. When I am called in to the Gamemakers I head straight to the knives, pick up a few and head to the shooting range. I grip my blade, aim and throw hard, so hard that it sticks right into the centre of the target. The Gamemakers look impressed, and tell me I can go. I head to the elevator, but in last minute I turn around and throw my other knife at a rope holding a bag up. I split the rope, making the bag fall to the ground with a big thump, and I press the number 12 on the elevator to go back to my floor.

That night everyone sits down on the small lounge to watch the training scores. I'm not sure what the others showed the Gamemakers, but Maysilee gets a 9, which is pretty good, considering most of the Careers scored that too. Then my name is on the screen and they are flashing a number 10 underneath. Everyone is congratulating me and Maysilee on good scores when they only got 6's, and I can see they are jealous.

I board the hovercraft alone, with only my stylist accompanying me. He's as much company to me as dirt, but I can't really make him not come. We are only about 30 minutes into the ride when the windows black out. We are near the arena. We disembark into an underground cavern, with only a metal plate and a door. I get changed into the uniform, which consists of thin trousers, simple black shirt, a jacket, and sturdy brown boots. A voice comes over the intercom that tells the tributes to stand on the metal plate. We will be rising up soon.

I can feel it lifting me higher, and when I am above ground I look around at the arena. It is a very 'pretty' arena. There is no other way to describe it. Brightly coloured flowers, tall, picturesque trees, trimmed green grass. Everything about it screams _"Trap!"_,even though I can't really place why. Everyone else is in a stupor, amazed at the arena. Apart from me, of course. The gong rings out, and I sprint to the Cornucopia, collecting what I need; knives, a pack, food and water. I'm running towards the trees when I look over my shoulder and see no one has even reached the Cornucopia yet. I keep running, further into the forest's reaches.

After about an hour or two, the cannon starts to boom. I count 18 shots, and do a quick calculation that there are 30 tributes left to play. At least 10 of them are Careers. I continue to jog or walk, trying to preserve some energy while getting as far away as possible from everyone. I keep an eye out for water, for snares that will give me an indication of human presence nearby. For a trap that will leave me confronted, injured and most likely, dead.

Night falls quickly, and I find a cave of sorts that would make an excellent first camp site. I haven't spotted any water sources, though. Looking through the pack, I see it contains a first aid kit, two empty water bottles (what good will that do), some crackers, and some knife blades. I add to the pack my knives, water, and bread. After I pack the contents away, I settle down to get a few hours rest.

Sunlight is just beginning to filter through the trees, signalling dawn and my time to wake up. I am just packing my things up when the cannon booms. And again. _28 left_, I think.

I eat a breakfast of bread and some roots that were growing just outside my little cave. I wash it down with a bit of water, and head on my way. The walk is somehow relaxing, and I enjoy it, almost. I kill a rabbit, skin it, and although it would be great to light a fire, I'm thinking of the smoke and the Careers that could kill me, ever so fast. I am now also thinking of the cannons last night, and how close they sounded. I see multiple tracks of footprints, which lead in the direction I'm heading, and then that's where I come across the coals of someone's dying campfire. They are still hot, which is alarming, but the footprints are leading away, so I use the coals to cook my rabbit. Walking in the same direction, with my back to the mountains, I continue while eating the rabbit. I hear 3 more cannons as I am walking, which was interesting. There must be a fight going on somewhere. As I enter a large clearing, I see the shadows and I realise it's what I have been trying to avoid completely. A trap, and to be precise…

A trap of the Careers.


	3. Footprints

_**This one has a bit of fighting and action in it, which is kind of overdue since Haymitch IS in the arena. Oh well, hope you have a good read XD  
BTW next update will be soon, hopefully this week!**_

_**Reviews are great! Don't be afraid to voice your thoughts, I'm all ears for advice :)**_

'_As in the war of 1941 – 45, our attack and survival all depend on how and where we attack.'_

_- James Forrestal_

They advance on me quickly, and I see there are only 3 males here. The rest must be off hunting or something. I drop my rabbit, wiping my hands on my trousers as I grip my knife. A Career charges with a dagger and I slash away, while kicking them off of me. I cut the throat of the smallest of the Careers, and he collapses on the ground, choking, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but it's useless, of course. Another swings a club and I'm quick to duck, but not quick enough. A gash opens up across the bridge of my nose as I go down. I struggle to get to my feet, and while they are distracted, I throw my knife into his temple, and the cannon booms. Another one does too, so the guy on the ground must've died as well.

There is only one Career left, and he tackles me. We are rolling over and over in the grass, each looking for an advantage. My other knife left my hand when I got hit, so I reach for it and slash at my opponent. He takes advantage of his superior strength and levers the knife so it's pointing down at my neck. The tip is just opening a small cut when he stops, pulls a poisoned dart out of his neck, and falls to the ground, dead. The cannon booms, and I am left alone with my wounds.

Maysilee steps out from the trees shadows, a blow gun in hand. "We'd live longer with the two of us." She says. "I guess you just proved that, I reply, rubbing my neck. "Allies?" She nods, and we shake hands. Then we keep moving, leaving the mountains, and the clearing, behind us. The cannons are constant, sounding at least every hour. I tick them off in my head as I go. There were 28 left this morning at the cave, and then I heard 2 cannons as I was walking. When myself and Maysilee had killed the Careers, that had left 23 tributes. Over the course of the 5 hour walking period we had before we stopped to rest, there had been 6 cannon fires, leaving 17 tributes left. _They're powering through us, _I thought, but then I remembered just how many tributes had contributed to these games.

The next day, after having been walking for hours with little rest, we set our things down under a tree to sleep. As we were drifting off, the first patters of rain began to fall, turning a drizzle into a downpour. We were so thirsty; we got leaves and drank the water. It soothed our dry tongues, and, after we retrieved a little common sense, started to fill all our containers with the water. It may need to last a while, after all.

Our water bottles and containers filled, we drifted off to sleep.

The cannon jolted us awake. I counted 4 booms, which meant there were only 13 tributes left. And, that there was a good fight going on. But it was close, and it was time to get moving again.

We got our gear together, eating some crackers, a handful of berries and the rest of the roots. Strangely enough, I felt wide awake and on alert, my nerves were buzzing. Maybe they could sense that we would be fighting soon….

They were right, sort of, because Maysilee spots a pair of fresh tracks. The person we are now tracking must me a male because of the big, heavy footprints, but I estimate they had about a five minute lead on us. Not to worry though, because we were light-footed and moving fast, determined to catch up and kill our prey, without leaving tracks for someone to come and hunt us.  
And it doesn't take long to locate the tribute we were hunting. It turns out to be a boy from 4, Theon, I think his name is. Obviously, he separated from the Career alliance, and I'm not surprised. He's the smallest Career anyone has ever seen. Much bigger than Maysilee or myself, of course, but still small. Small for a Career, but easier to kill, at least to us. Maysilee knows what I am thinking, and we move into range, Maysilee raising her blow gun. But first, she drips liquid from a flower onto the tip. I'm confused at first, but then I realise the obvious, and it is also the answer to why I thought the whole arena was a trap. Poison, the whole arena is poison. But it's a matter that will be thought about later. Now, we both have to focus on killing this boy.

The dart hits him in the back of the neck, and he falls to the ground almost instantly as the cannon booms. Apart from the poison, the dart is long, almost five centimetres with a three centimetre point. It might have been fatal without the poison. We hesitate for a moment, before quickly moving forward to retrieve the dart and what supplies the tribute carried with him. He hasn't got much, just a few beef strips, some crackers and a first aid kit. We take it all, leaving only the backpack and his body behind.

Maysilee, who usually keeps in pace with me, is now trailing behind, until she stops and leans against the tree. Nothing I say will make her move. "We have to keep moving, we can't stay here." I say, hoping she'll give in.  
"Why? Why do we have to keep going in this direction, opposite the mountains? What do you expect to find?" she demands. "I don't know, I say. "Maybe something we can use." She rolls her eyes and begrudgingly walks after me.

The sun is dipping down below the horizon, and for the first time since the arena I notice the sky lights up as the anthem plays. It shows the faces of the dead tributes. Since Maysilee stopped me, there had been 6 cannon booms, leaving just 6 tributes left to play it out in the arena. The faces light up but I don't care who they are. All I register is that Maysilee and I are the only District 12 tributes left in the arena. Well, the others weren't much chop anyway. We sleep for a few hours, alternating between watches, before I rouse Maysilee and tell her we must be on our way.

We have left the trees for a wide stretch of open, green grass, but I have a feeling there isn't anyone near us, and although we hear a cannon, its far off. We keep walking for a few hours until we come to, what looks like, the end of the arena. Well, there's certainly no way to keep going. Maysilee looks into the abyss of rocks and shakes her head. "There's nothing here, Haymitch. Let's go back."  
"No, I'm staying here." I tell her absentmindedly. She looks at me before saying, "Well, there's only five of us left. We may as well break it off now. I don't want it to be between the two of us." I just nod, and a few moments later, I look back and see she's gone. But I'm trying to work something out. I skirt along the edge, and my feet dislodge some stones as I am doing so. Instead of them being lost forever in the abyss, there's a sharp zap and the stones land back at my feet. Curious, I hurdle a rock the size of my fist into the abyss, and, like the stones, it shoots right back up into my hand. I grin, pleased with my discovery, and that's when I hear the scream. Not too far off, but it's hard to place. That's when I realise who the scream belongs to. Fear shoots through my heart, but not for me.

For Maysilee.


	4. Games To Play

_**It's the bloody fight to the death that counts the most… and Haymitch realises surviving that Hunger Games isn't as glorious and as easy as he thought. The price to pay is much more than taking a few lives in order to save your own.**_

_**Updates soon, so enjoy this chapter while you can! It's a little shorter than usual, but that's because I had a specific place I wanted to end at. Reviews with advice will be greatly appreciated. And I couldn't decide on either of these two quotes for this chapter, so I wrote both.**_

"_Doesn't the fight for survival also justify swindle and theft? In self defence, anything goes."_

_- Imelda Marcos_

"_If my survival caused another to perish, then death would be sweeter and more beloved."_

_- Khalil Gibran_

She screams again and I am running to her, calling her name. I round the corner, just quick enough to see the bright pink flamingo skewer her neck with its beak.

Maysilee is silent now, but not dead, as I run to her. Her hands are trying to staunch the flow of blood coming from her neck but she must know it's futile, she can't be saved. I hold her hand, tell her it's okay to let go, to slip out of this world. She smiles a little, but I know she is in a lot of pain. Tears roll down her face as she breathes her last breath. Then the cannon booms and I know she is gone.

I close her eyelids, and step back a few steps, just watching her. Then I press my three middle fingers of my left hand to my mouth and hold them out to her. To let Maysilee know she is in a better place now, that she will be missed. Then I walk away, letting the hovercraft retrieve her body. I don't go to the abyss, though; I go back to the forest, into a big, deserted clearing to sleep. I hear another cannon, and realise; there are only 3 tributes left.  
I wake up early, a bit before dawn, and hear the cannon that is very close, probably only a few hundred metres away. Then I know it is time to face the remaining tribute.

We walk, to a big, open grassed area, perfect for the 'big fight'. I get my knives ready, ready to take her on. It is the girl from District One, and she carries an axe like she knows how to use it lethally and well. Then she lunges at me and it is on.

She swings the axe at my head and I duck, running her through with my knife and opening a wound on her side. She swings the axe into my stomach, and it goes deep, I can feel it. As the girl, Constantia, lunges again, I hit her square in the face, bloodying her nose. She gets agrivated with this and throws me backwards, but I recover quickly to charge at her again. Hitting her in the knee, she goes down, and I'm towering over her when her foot flies out and hits me squarely in the crotch. I double over in pain, giving her time to recover. I'm trying to stab her in the heart, but she's too quick for me, and we struggle for a while, chopping and nipping at each other. I throw an axe at her eye as she throws her axe and we both receive what could well be fatal wounds.

I'm running now, through the forest, weaving in between trees, trying to reach the abyss. We are stumbling up a grassy hill now, me holding in my intestines, Constantia trying to stop the blood pouring from her empty eye socket. I lost my knife in our battle, which is why I am running.  
I collapse on the ground in front of the abyss, and Constantia, who is twenty or so metres behind me, reaches back, and with all her strength, throws her axe as hard as she can at my head. I don't have any strength to move, but I don't need to. She misses, and her axe goes flying into the abyss. She's still coming towards me, though; maybe she thinks she will outlast me. But what I know, and she doesn't, is that the axe is not lost forever. True to my thoughts, it comes flying back, aimed at Constantia's head, and she realises this a second before the axe blade berries itself in her skull.

I look at her crumpled body, while I am convulsing as my stomach contracts, and I feel the pain that goes deeper than my intestines. My ears hurt as the trumpets play, and the hovercraft appears and the claw is dropping down to collect me, and for a moment I am afraid that Constantia was a dream, and I haven't fought her at all, or that I am dead, or that now the Capitol is going to torture me, but no, I recognise Claudius Templesmith's voice booming across the arena as I listen to the screams of the Capitol crowds. I'm frozen in place as the claw is pulling me up, up into the air and into the hovercraft.  
Then the doctors wheel me in, drug me with morphing, and begin surgery. At least I think its surgery, maybe they are just killing me in an inhumane way and that Constantia won, and is not dead. But the drugs are pulling me under and for now, I just don't care.

Over the next few days, I slip into consciousness and then go out again, but I am vaguely aware of my wounds disappearing, and I am feeling cleaner and less ragged. Good, I guess they aren't trying to kill me. I try to sit up, but I feel nauseas and then they drug me again. And when I finally wake up, I realise I can sit up without feeling sick, and there is a little bit of food for me to eat. I'm starving, but my stomach has other ideas as I heave and my small breakfast makes a reappearance.

I finish spewing up, wipe my mouth and realise, for the first time since I won, I am going home. Home! I will see my mother, and younger brother, and Lucia…. I find myself getting dizzy because of the excitement. Excitement. That's a new feeling, but I'm too overcome with emotions to let it register. My permanent scowl lifts at the thought of that run-down place called District 12 that is my home.

I get dressed into a simple outfit, and find myself being escorted by Shauna down the corridors and out of the hospital in the training centre that I was in, coming to the elevator that takes us to my floor. She's talking, but I don't take any notice. Mainly it's just about how proud she is, and how she is so happy for me, and how she knew I would win. Frankly, I don't want her praise, because she wasn't even my mentor so she didn't help me. She wasn't in the arena with me, as I killed those innocent people in exchange for my life. I realise that's the real reason I feel sick. Those tributes, that I killed…..  
I did that. Killed them, to live, and now they will haunt me forever. And then at the Victory Tour, where I will have to look into the faces of their families, and see, reflected there, grief, sorrow, anger, and revenge, even.

I wonder if the flash-backs and nightmares will ever go away.


	5. Home

_**Heartbreak and tragedy, tissues may be used as necessary. Although times can be hard, there is always a silver lining in the grey cloud hanging overhead. Try to remember everyone has been through a similar experience.  
Updates soon! Thanks for bearing with me guys :) Much appreciated. Reviews also XD**_

"_Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art … It has no survival value; rather it is one of the things that give value to survival."_

_- C. S. Lewis_

The train ride home is almost unbearable. It seems to take twice as long, and my waking hours are filled with flashbacks and my fidgeting hands that are trying to distract my brain, but it never works. Sleep is worse and the nightmares of dead tributes coming alive and advancing on me, replays of killing the people, hallucinating even, makes me jolt awake, sweating and more scared than ever. I have developed a habit of never sleeping when it's dark, because the nightmares come more alive in the darkness. And I find I'm almost never tired. How can my brain want to sleep, when it is overridden with images and ideas? It can't. And when sleep does overcome me, it never lasts long. What little sleep I get is riddled with screams and images and I can't stand it. The next morning I awake from a nightmare when Shauna tells me we will be arriving soon. I jump up, collect my things, (nothing, except for the bracelet Lucia gave me), and head to the exit door. Before long an Avox opens the door for me and I jump out, expecting to see my family, but I don't. Lucia is there though, running towards me. She flings her arms around me and I embrace her, soaking in her scent, her warmth. We hold hands as we walk, winding our way through the bustling people in the markets just outside. Lucia fills me in on what had happened when I had been away in the arena, but when I ask her where my family is she bites her lip and looks away. My stomach does a flip as images of torture, of death fill my mind. I ask her again, and she looks me straight in the eye, and says, "They… The Peacekeepers, they took him, your brother, and….." she trails off. "I tried to run to him, but the Peacekeeper aimed a gun at me. Your mother told them that I meant no harm, and the Peacekeeper walked away. But then he….. "But she doesn't need to tell me. They killed him. They killed my innocent, sweet brother who was only a few years younger than me. Adam, who, when we finished school, would tell me about his day, who cared about me, who could coax a smile from my lips. He is gone. I ask the question that is eating away at me. "Is my mother alive?" I ask hesitantly, dreading that the answer will be no.  
"She is alive, thank lord. But she is sick, nursing a headache. She asked me to meet you here, and to tell you we now live in the Victors Village. My family passed away from sickness, it was very sudden. So I came to live with you." A smile plays on her lips and I kiss her, because I have craved the feeling of her lips against mine for so long. She presses herself to me as I kiss her again, and we melt into each other. I scoop her up, carrying her to our new house, as she laughs merrily and the breeze carries her voice across the threshold of our home.

I walk in the door and my mother greets me with a tight hug. I hold her in my arms because I have missed her. I feel my shoulder grow damp as she sobs, and I feel a tear or two on my own cheek as I remember my brother. After a long time I let her go, set her down softly into a rocking chair, where Lucia holds her in my place. As I walk along the hall, I come to my room, where my few belongings have been placed. I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to process this last turn of events. I can't, so I give up, knowing it's futile. Then Lucia comes in quietly, closes the door and sits next to me. I open my arms as she wraps hers around my shoulders. We sit, quietly, for a long time, somehow knowing what each other is thinking.

Apparently, the nightmares don't go away, but I make an effort to be strong and not let them show, for Lucia and my mother. As the days pass, I realise something doesn't fit together. Why did my brother have to die? What did he do? It's only when I get a call from the President that I begin to understand. The Gamemakers had been played for fools when I used the force field to deflect the axe, the very axe that lifted me from the arena. No one would have even guessed that the force field could be used to any players advantage, so when it did, the Gamemakers were the laughing stock of Panem. And the one thing the Capitol can't tolerate is being made to look like fools. So they took revenge on someone I loved, they took it out on Adam. It dawns on me that it is my fault, I did this to him. I ask the President why he didn't just kill me, but he just laughs; of course, because that would be too easy. He doesn't tell me, though, that Adam isn't the only one that will suffer for my actions. I don't even realise it. Not until later, anyway.  
Another thing I don't realise is just how much the Arena haunts me. It follows me everywhere, and only Lucia's and my mother's faces can make is shrink back into the dark shadows enfolding my other dark thoughts in my mind.

The next few days are luxurious, staying in Lucia's arms for most of the time. My mother is brighter than I have ever seen her; despite my brother's death, she is overjoyed to have me home. We spend more time together as a family than we ever did, and now with Lucia joining us, I'm thinking that maybe we should make her a part of the family for real. I never dreamed of a family of my own, but it seems like a great idea, and Lucia's eyes fill with hope, and delight as I repeat my idea to her. I know this is the right choice.  
One day, Lucia is standing by the mirror as I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her gently. Then I notice the tiniest of bumps on her stomach. My hands go to her belly and I feel it, the child Lucia is now carrying. We look at each other with pure joy; our wish is finally coming true. The child deep in Lucia's womb grows, and each day I find myself feeling its little kicks and movements. We have more than enough money to support a family, and I realise now this is what will help me pull myself together, it gives me a reason to keep going. We are truly in a world that no one could penetrate. This child really is the hope for life. Despite the horror of my nightmares; they are still in great supply, though little demand, the images are still terrifying. I am scared that one day this will all be taken away from me, and maybe it will, but for now, I keep reminding myself, that it's true, that good is happening, and maybe, just maybe, time will help heal the wounds that go far deeper than the pit of my stomach, the tips of my toes.


	6. Empty Actions

_**Tissue warning! If you have read Mockingjay, you might remember when Haymitch says his family and his girl were all dead two weeks after he was crowned Victor. I tried to emphasise that in this chapter, and I also tried to make it longer, without much success. Sorry! The end is drawing near, but not for a fair few chapters yet.  
Double chapters! Woo! Just because I'm nice, I'm not tired yet, and to make up for the many weeks of no updates. Sorry about that. Should be back on track now!**_

"_Do not dwell on the past; do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment."_

_- Buddha_

In the morning, I awake to the sounds of happy birds singing out tunes of joy. Spring is in the air as I get up, trying not to disturb Lucia. I walk silently down the hall to the kitchen, where my mother is sitting up in a chair, knitting. She smiles as I eat some breakfast, and get ready to go to the markets. The dry leaves that are scattered along the paving stones of the road crunch underneath my feet as I make my way towards the town square. My good mood falls a little at the sight of a bloody, bare back hanging unconscious from a wooden board. Whipping isn't uncommon, but I still don't like watching them. I walk past, my head bowed, as I make my way to the stalls and small shopfronts lining the Square.  
I try to spread my money I brought over many stores, buying rolls from the bakery, where the baker serves me himself, cloth and wool for my mother, some herbs, meat, and even some peppermints from the tiny sweet store. They taste interesting; I have never had peppermints before as we could never afford them. Sweet, but cool and refreshing in my mouth. They are almost addictive; I could never stop eating them if I had enough.  
When I get home I open my bag to reveal my purchases. I give the wool and cloth to my mother, store the food in the pantry, and leave the peppermints on the bench for everyone to take one when they wanted.  
As usual, there isn't much to do, and to be truthful there was nothing at all to get on with. So I get lots of food, put it in a basket, grab some blankets and head to the meadow to have a picnic with my family. It's a warm day, and we have a great time spending most of the day in the meadow. We even collect dandelions and have a dandelion salad, full of the flower-heads and green dandelion stems.  
The sun is just setting over the horizon when we decide to head back. It wouldn't be a good idea to stay when it's dark, because of predators, even though the electric fence keeps most out. We pack up our things, and walk back to the house in the Victors Village. Although spring has arrived, it still gets pretty cold in the evenings and we are all shivering when we get inside. Rugging up in warm pyjamas, we all drift off to sleep as the house becomes peaceful and silent, warm inside despite the cool chill just outside the walls.

When I wake up, I am filled with a warm, happy glow that fills me with hope and optimism. Until I hear the strangled cry that fills the silent house, and I know immediately that something is wrong. I throw back the covers and leap to my feet, charging down the stairs, down the hall to the kitchen. My mother sees me and calls for help and I reach for her, but the Peacekeeper pulls her back and out the door. I follow, and see a mini gallows has been set up by the Head Peacekeeper. My mother is locked in, and I see the guillotine too quickly, and this whole set-up is all but alarming and frightening. I try to stop them from doing this, but it's futile. They reach for Lucia, who is standing in the doorway trembling, and I push her behind me, standing in front of her to protect her. The Peacekeepers just grin in a sadistic way and knock me to the floor with a blow to the head. My whole head is aching and I have an awful headache, but they've got Lucia in the modernised gallows and I try to reach her and my mother. They both call my name, and I think I can reach them in time, when the blade swings down and their heads detach themselves from their bodies, rolling across the ground and stopping face up in front of my feet.

I lose it. Whatever sanity I once had surely diminishes now, as the Peacekeeper throws me a key and calls, "Unlock them, unless you want them to stay there."  
Of course I don't want them to stay there, outside my house, hanging there as their souls leech from their body. I fumble, my un-cooperating fingers trying to find the key the Peacekeeper threw at my feet. I find it and unlock them, catch their bodies as they crumple to the ground. I lay them on the path, and I try to make sense of this. I can only form one thought.

What have I done?

The coffin-makers for the district call me to say they are ready. Simple wooden boxes, which I asked them to carve something special into. 'I did this' is all I asked for them to carve. That's it. Because I did. Just like my brother, my mother and Lucia paid for my actions in the arena. How I wish, now, that I died in the Games, that even Constantia won, because it would mean my family would be safe. Of course, they would mourn me and possibly never get over it, but they would be alive, and although sad, would be able to get on with their lives. Now they have died, all because of something that happened in the arena. If Maysilee had won, it would've been even better, because it meant my family would be safe from hunger, too. But they are dead, and out of harm's way forever now. The only real time I felt good about winning the Games, apart from the knowledge that my family was safe, was that the District would be hunger-free. Food parcels, every month for a year, would ensure that no one would ever go hungry. That's all well and good, but I can't get past the fact that they are dead. My mother, whose eyes would light up at the sight of my and Lucia together, who cried on my shoulder, who comforted me when I was upset. My brother, Adam, who loved me and I loved him. And Lucia, sweet Lucia who loved me uncontrollably. Who was a part of the family. Who would've been head of a family I will now never have. As I think of this, my body trembles and threatens to break apart into millions of pieces. But then I think of things that I rarely thought of, like my father. I didn't know him well, because I was only a few years old when he died. Because he, ironically, got sent to the Games, but never came back. My mother was pregnant with Adam, and when my father died, the depression that came with it almost crushed her. The only thing that gave her hope, made her strong enough to keep going was Adam and I.  
When I got shipped off to the Hunger Games, she must've thought it would happen again, that I would die just like her husband, like my father. Only I didn't; I survived, and at her large cost. How will I cope? How can I live with this hanging on the edge of my mind, every week, every day? I can't.  
The nightmares are worse than ever that night. I keep reliving those precious last seconds of their lives, and thinking what I could've done to stop it happening. Pleaded with them, maybe? But I know, in my heart of hearts, that nothing I could've said would have made them stop. It might've made the Peacekeepers prolong Lucia's and my mother's lives to torture, and that would have been worse. The call from President Snow ends with him saying, "At least it was quick. You're very lucky I didn't take them away for torturing and broadcast it live to all of Panem." All I can think is that it's a sunny view on my situation, but of course, it doesn't make me happy. It doesn't brighten my mood. Very few thoughts are actually making it into my mind and are being noticed.

What have I done?

I awake with a start, emerging from an in-depth nightmare about being in the arena, getting my throat cut open slowly by the hand of that Career that Maysilee killed. Only in my nightmare, Maysilee isn't there to shoot him with a dart gun, and I wake up when the blood starts spurting at my face and I feel a warm spray trickling down my cheek.  
My hands go to my face to realise its only sweat, not blood. My breathing slows as I try to make myself remember that I'm not in the arena anymore, just in my bed, without my family and without my sanity (I'm not sure about that, but it seems right to me). I get up and go to the bathroom, splashing my face with cool water. It's only early morning, maybe five-thirty, but I go ahead and eat breakfast anyway. While I'm eating, I realise that to overcome some of the pain I will need a diversion, or distraction. A decoy, of sorts, only I have no idea what that could be. Since my days now are mainly filled with doing nothing, there isn't anything to fill the endless hours with now. I know that the Victory Tour will help, but then after that I will have to mentor two kids for every Hunger Games yet to come until the day I die. I can't even think of that horrible thought.


	7. Victory

_**Could this get any harder for Haymitch? Probably. But I won't hint at what is coming, even though it IS pretty obvious. **_

'_He who learns but does not think, is lost! He who thinks but does not learn is in great danger.'_

_- Confucius _

Before I know it, I'm being hustled about, getting prepped, getting driven to the station, and shoved on a train by Peacekeepers and by Shauna. I only realise when the train is moving out of the station that the Victory Tour has begun. We will be starting with District 11, working our way up to District 1, then going to the Capitol, then home to District 12 again. Exhausted from today, all I think of is how desperate I am to have some peace and quiet again. It only started today and I'm already sick of it. But it's compulsory, and I find myself wishing I could just die. It's a dark thought, probably the darkest I've ever had, but that doesn't stop me from wanting it to be true. The tragedy breaks my heart every time I think about it, but it's impossible not to think about Lucia, my mother, Adam, my father even, and my close friend, Stephen, who was arrested and beaten to death for sticking up for me. Then there's Maysilee, the tributes in the arena, and I am flooded with memories again. But this time, instead of trying to stay afloat, I just let myself sink to the bottom, not caring, not worrying how it will affect me, or anyone else for that matter. I somehow fall asleep, but it isn't peaceful. It never is, so I'm not surprised.  
Morning dawns and I am called to the dining hall by Shauna's invitation. Sitting down to eat, I stuff myself full of the rich Capitol food, until I can't hold another thing in my stomach. Shauna guides me through the timetable of what is expected to be happening at District 11. I have a speech prepared, and because I didn't have any allies, except for Maysilee, I don't need to add a special thank_  
__-_you, which is a relief.  
We are taken into the Justice Building, and given microphones that will project our voice once we are on the stage. When we are given the OK, we walk to our specific spots on the stage as the crowd cheers. It isn't a real cheer, just a forced celebration that doesn't quite cover the loathing they all feel towards me. I didn't kill any of their tributes, but I won, and they died, so I expect it. I say my speech, the Mayor of 11 gives a speech as well, I get a big, heavy plaque and a bouquet of flowers, and then it's over. We are ushered onto the train, adhering to a tight schedule, and then we are off again, speeding into the night, heading towards District 10.

District 10 isn't something to write home about. These people tend to the livestock, supplying Panem with meat, but I'm not taking any notice of the district, of anything, really. The speeches fly by and before I know it I'm back on the train, heading out of the station and heading towards district 9.  
District's nine, eight, seven and six rush by before my eyes, and I barely have time to get even the slightest bit nervous. One thing I register, though, it the crowd's reaction and feelings of anger and resentment bubbling just beneath the surface of the happy mask people have been forced to put on. My mentor and escort, Shauna, are present and are accompanying me on the Victory Tour, and I'm sure they realise the full extent of the District people's rage. Rage that their children have been turned into pawns in the Hunger Games; necessary, but then not so, and that's where they become very disposable. And the Districts can't do a thing about it. If they so much as lift a finger, they will be exposed to the fate that overcame District 13; smouldering, reduced to ashes, and very dead. They aren't alone; every District feels the same way, because the reactions from the people are the same in every district. Barely containing the raw emotions of anger, hopelessness and desperation as the Victors come and go.

None of the Districts come as a surprise to me, actually. It seems as though I'm familiar with everything they hold, though that is certainly impossible. And yet, I know exactly what to say, how to act, and what to do. I blamed it on repetitiveness, though I had my suspicions.  
The Capitol was extraordinary, though not always in a good way. The banquet, held in the President's mansion, held food of every kind; type, shape and flavour. I noticed people carrying dainty-looking glasses filled with a clear liquid, going into the bathroom with full bellies, then coming back out and eating as if they hadn't had food in weeks. It took me until my escort, Shauna Mildeen, came up to me and explained what it was. "So you can keep on eating for ever!" was how she described it, but the thought of wasting all that food disgusted me, and I kept taking small bites of food here and there, thinking of the clear liquid Shauna described and how pampered these Capitol people were. I hate them, all of them.

Exhausted is the word that describes me best at the present moment. I only realised as soon as I left the Capitol how fatigued I'd become after endless of sleep-deprived nights, thinking about nothing, but everything at the same time. I feel asleep as soon as we left the station, streaming across the endless fields of grass, trees, and not much else. I feel disorientated, and I can hear things, but not well. Talking, the almost silent rumble of the train, night animals, insect clicking, weapons clashing together, and the ring of the gong that sounded at the very start of my games. My eyes close, and the pictures take form, adding to the horror of the blood spurting out of Constantia's eye socket, her eyeball having detached from her head moments before. Disconnected limbs, body parts, axes, knifes, the Cornucopia, the hovercraft and the doctors who accompanied it are flashing before my closed eyes, and suddenly I am jolted awake by Shauna knocking on my door, telling me to get ready, telling me we will be disembarking soon. Sweaty, trembling, and vision swimming, I fumble with the shower buttons and get assaulted with water, soap, and more water, alternating between boiling hot and freezing cold. Once I am dried, dressed in clothes I didn't take notice of, I meander down the hall to the dining room, where my mentor, Shauna, some Avoxes and my stylist are waiting. Shauna looks concerned, as if some silly drama is weighing upon her mind. Breakfast is its usual dependable self, delicious, filling, and Capitol-made. Then the doors open, we disembark, and cameras are everywhere, in my face, in Shauna's face, in our way, and they are broadcasting onto screens that fill the Square. I guess everyone wants a piece of District 12's only living Victor. Our first Victor, Eliza, won the very first Hunger Games, and died at an early age. I read a book somewhere about her, and it said she committed suicide because everyone she loved was killed. It's sad to think that suicide was her only option to extracting herself from the nightmare of a life she would have been living. I know what it feels like.  
Since then, I've been the only other District 12 tribute to make it home. Now, that's really sad. How hopeless the people who call District 12 home must feel. How distraught their minds must be, watching their own children getting killed in the Arena. Death, after death, after death…


	8. Prepare

_**This update is probably the biggest yet. Sorry, updates are becoming fewer and fewer, I've had a lot of school-work to do, so I haven't been able to write chapters much. Also, I'll be editing some of my chapters over the next few weeks, so if you've already read them, I suggest you re-read. Sorry if this is an inconvenience! **_

'_A man begins cutting his wisdom teeth the first time he bites off more than he can chew.'_

_- Herb Caen_

It's the moment I have been dreading ever since I stepped from the train that took me home. The Reaping. I have to mentor some weak, dainty-looking kid from the small middle-school in District 12, to watch them get killed in the bloodbath. Nothing I say will ever sway their greedy thoughts of getting some food from the Cornucopia. I may be mistaken; maybe a strong young adult will come along, and they will win, and I won't have to mentor the tributes.  
Such desperate thoughts my mind breeds. Of course, that will never happen.

I walk to the back, sheltered part of the stage that houses the people who will take to the stage soon, and my mind reels as I think up endless possibilities of what the tributes will be like. Smart, greedy and cunning? Weak, starving and hopeless? I'm guessing, wait, no, I know, it will be the latter. I shake my head as the anthem blares out from speakers around the square. The mayor is up, introducing Shauna, then me, and I walk into the sun-lit stage and take my place beside Shauna Mildeen. The mayor's speech drones on for what seems like an eternity. Then Shauna is standing up, walking, swishing her shoulders as the click-clack noise from her heels echoes around the silent square, to the podium with the glass ball, holding the names of the girls from all around the district. Time seems to slow down considerably as Shauna picks the slip and crosses to the microphone. Her lips form the name of Clementine Finche.  
The girl in question is tiny, smaller than I had ever seen. She trembled as she walked with small, quick steps to the stage, and took her place in the empty chair beside me. Her face is set, but anyone could see through that mask and drown in the fear that clouds her eyes, and consumes her thoughts. A 12 year-old that is useless. She'll probably be dead in the first 5 minutes of the Games. I scowl and look at Shauna, waiting for her to draw the boys slip. There are no volunteers for Clementine, so I'm stuck with a wispy child.  
Then Shauna draws the boy's name. Haemon Darcener was, to my uttermost surprise, a muscled, disciplined boy of 17, not looking for a fight, but not backing away from it either. He had a stony, but gentle, kind expression on his face. My face, once more, contorted into a scowl. Victors are definitely not known for their compassion. But, he at least stood a chance. He may actually win it. But, this is District 12, and the odds are in no way in our favour.

The Reaping crawls by, but I can see the people's faces, all except at least 2 families, have grown kinder, less caring, relieved, and all but grateful as their children, family, relatives and friends have been spared. Then comes the time where the children must say goodbye. As I'm not included in this, I find myself slumped impatiently in an exquisite armchair, laden with jewels. They fascinate me, and I'm lost in my thoughts for a few moments. But my thoughts are not a good place to be lost in, and I find myself sweating and trembling, looking at a big, round, ruby- red jewel and seeing Constantia's empty eye socket instead. Shaking my head, I look up to see Haemon and Clementine staring at me. I scowl and say gruffly, 'Let's go. Onto the train, please.'  
Haemon looks me in the eye and says, 'Why do you not care?' I eyes bore into his, and to my surprise, my face softens noticeably and I say gently 'I do care. It's just I know what's coming. And you have no idea.'

And they don't. No one except the other victors have a clue what is awaiting them. Life, if they live, is much, much worse than death. I don't tell them, though. It will just scare the life out of them, and then I will end up with not one, but two helpless, defenceless tributes who want to live, and die at the same time. I sigh noticeably, but no one says anything.  
The meal that night is, in fact, better than I've ever tasted, including my 'terrific' time on this very train as a tribute. I can see even Haemon has weakened at the sight of so much food, and he too has joined Clementine in stuffing their faces. I know what comes next; green cheeks and stomach aches. I would know, I've been through it before.  
District One, Two and Four have large amounts of Volunteers, and the tributes picked; Paris and Alexandria, don't look overly big or powerful, but are sure to excel at some kind of weaponry. District Two's boy tribute, Damion, is huge; big, heavy muscles and towering 2 metres. His sadistic grin and cocky attitude are imposing and intimidating. Three has tiny tributes that are as small as Clementine. Seven has strong, stocky kids of about 16; they are most likely to possess some strength. Eleven's girl tribute, Ebony, is a 12 year-old, but she isn't as small as I would've thought. Then Twelve comes and goes, and it's over.

When the tribute train pulls up at the station, Clementine actually squeals in delight and rushes to the window, waving and smiling like a madman. Haemon hesitates, before becoming overcome with curiosity and peeping through the window too. Their wide eyes and open mouths make their awe obvious. But, I can't blame them. I was almost exactly the same. We walk out into a world of flashes and loud, questioning voices, but as we hurry to the Remake centre, we quickly leave them behind, and Clementine and Haemon find themselves in the company of their prep teams. Leaving them to it, I go to the Control Room and get acquainted with my work space. A tap on my shoulder makes me jump, but I relax when I realise I'm in the presence of my mentor from my own games. He begins to explain what I have to do, how to send parachutes, and, most importantly, how to attract sponsors.

That night, the chariot rides go by without much of a flash. They really weren't that spectacular. Twelve had coalmining jumpsuits, headlamps and pickaxes, same as always. I feel almost sorry for Clementine and Haemon, who were clearly not impressed.  
I meet them in the foyer of the Training Centre, where we enter the elevator and go shooting up to the 12th storey of the building.  
'Go to bed, now.' I tell Clementine and Haemon, and they nod as they trail down the corridor to the rooms. I'm thinking over our competition, and how the odds are not in our favour. Well, not Clementine's, anyway. Haemon was one of the fittest in amongst the Careers, and a few others. He may not be as tall, or as muscular, but he was determined, and he was strong. Never underestimate the need for physical strength. It can come in very handy in the arena once the fight had begun.

"Haemon…...what are your strengths? Or weakness'." I add. He thinks for a moment, before replying, "Well, I'm strong, and I have a fair bit of brute force. My father taught me to throw knives, and I've thrown some axes before."  
"Are you any good?" I enquire. He nods, and says, "Yeah. Almost 100% accurate. Or so my father said." Thinking this over, I smile a little and nod. "Okay, good. And you, Clementine?" She looks me in the eye, and says, "Well, I may not be very strong, or muscle, or big, but I'm very quick on my feet, and agile. I know a lot about edible plants and survival skills. I guess that isn't much, though." Her eyes fall downcast, but my mind is crawling. She's right, of course, but an idea is forming in my mind. They will need allies, and who better to ally with than their district partner? Together, these tributes may actually stand a chance!  
I tell them something I figured out from my times in the Games, to not flaunt their skills in front of their competition. "Save it for the Gamemakers," I say. "If you show off in front of everyone else, you quite possibly will make them jealous, and that's where hate grows from. Alliances will form and you will be the centre target to get rid of before the real fun begins." They both understand what I'm saying. Save your real skills for your private sessions, and appear ignorant and plain average to the other competitors. As I watch them walk cautiously down the corridor to the lift, I remember what all the other tributes looked like, and how afraid they must be feeling. Shaking my head, I enter the elevator and press the button to head to the training centre.  
As the doors open onto the vast space filled with tributes, trainers and equipment, I let Clementine and Haemon go on, while I hang back to watch with the other mentors. One of the mentors, from District 11, comes over to greet me.  
"You're new, aren't you? Shame, isn't it, getting to know your kids before sending them to be slaughtered. Isn't much of a consolation, but I get how you feel. You get your hopes up; you get it branded into your brain that they will win. But they won't. They never do."  
Confused, I turn to look at him properly. The face rings a bell, and somewhere in my mind a picture surfaces; The Hunger Games, not long ago, but a couple of years back. Chaff, who won his games, and became the next Victor for District 11. He lost his hand during his games, and seeing as he hasn't got a replacement from the Capitol, I'm guessing he refused the offer. I know how he feels, but I'm not listening as Chaff starts to talk. I'm actually trying to remember as much as I can about his Games. For some unknown, inconvenient reason, I can't remember a single thing about it. Cursing silently, I start to listen in on the banter coming from Chaff's lips.  
It's unrelated talk recounting his life since his games, and I don't really care, but I can see the sadness in his eyes from telling me his personal experiences. I want to ask him questions about the after-math of his Games, but then lunch is called and he has to check on his tributes. I tell him I'll bring my tributes over to their table, though.  
Catching sight of the number 12 on their backs, I pick my way through the crowd to them, and once we all have trays of food, I lead them to the District 11 table. Awkward hellos are exchanged between the tributes, but Chaff greets me like an old friend. Plonking myself down across from him, I listen in to his extravagant tales he begins to tell.  
Surprisingly, the Capitol has provided alcohol for the mentors and practically everyone except the tributes. Chaff scoops up and away two bottles of the strongest kind of wine around, and pours me a large glass full of the tart liquid. I've never had wine, or any alcohol before, but I'm curious enough to want to try it. My mother never let me try any, and so I never had any until now. My mind filling up with painful thoughts and memories, I take a sip from the glass. The taste is sweet and refreshing, and after my glass is finished, my head goes foggy and it disorientates me momentarily, but I relish the feeling of not being able to think straight. I reach for the bottle for a refill, but Chaff beats me to it and my glass is once again, full. Training finishes for the day, and with my rocky head, I take some bottles up to my room after giving a goodbye to Chaff. He doesn't hear me, too drunk to hear anything, let alone let anything register. I'm surprised I can even stand up.  
The next day is another training day for Clementine and Haemon. For the first time, I begin sizing up our competition, and it dawns on me that, although District 12's tributes are strong, the Careers are much, much better, and the Victor will most likely be one of them. Slumping in my chair, I look around for Chaff, and any spare alcohol, but neither makes an appearance. It's later into the day, when I am focusing my attention on Clementine's attempts at starting a fire, that Chaff rambles up to me, his sight settling on Julien, his scrawny tribute. He sighs, and I know why. His tributes will have performed miracles if they get passed the Bloodbath. But before he can say anything, the bell that signals lunch chimes loudly and we head off to the buffet holding our meal.

That night our little party, including myself, Clementine and Haemon, Shauna, District Twelve's stylists, and the prep team, sit around the table, chattering away, Clementine and Haemon telling me all about their training session. "Tomorrow is the private sessions with the Gamemakers. I think you already know what to do." I remind them. They both nod. "Yeah," Haemon says. "Show them our best assets and skills." Clementine agrees wholeheartedly. They know what they have to do. I nod and send them off to bed, so they get a good night's rest. I'm starting to head that way myself. I'm somewhat comforted by the idea that these tributes have got a good idea of what's coming, and have the common sense to not overestimate themselves. With this thought resting steadily in the back of my mind, I drift off into the most peaceful slumber I've slept through since I stepped on that stage a year ago.

I rise late in the morning, not thinking, nor caring, about the time of breakfast and how late I am. Slumping in a dining chair, I dig in to this feast and fill myself up full of delicious food, but quickly, because I need to get ready for training. Waiting at the elevator for Haemon and Clementine, we head to the gym for the hardest, final phase of training; impressing the Gamemakers. I have no idea how they will do, because their sessions will be private, between the Gamemakers and the tributes only, and the rest of us will have to make do with watching the scores. I don't stay with them until they are called in, but I do, however, decide to try out something my mentor explained that was important; round up interested sponsors and sign them up. Charisma is one of my lesser traits, but I know a few tricks, courtesy of my mentor.

That night we all crowd onto the lounges to watch the training scores. The districts flash by, starting with district 1, with a simple headshot and training score underneath. The Careers naturally get a score of 8 – 10, which isn't surprising at all. I do notice the tributes from 7, Andrea and Oak, get an 8 and 9, scores that impress me, seeing as district 7 isn't known for great tributes. District 11 has poor scores, but District 12's own Clementine Finche, a tiny girl from a small, poor district, gets a 7. We all cheer loudly, but quieten down to hear Haemon's score. I almost suspect it, but when he pulls a 10, we know we have such a great chance I can almost smell victory in the air. I know we can do it. I just know. And we won't have to wait long to find out. There are just the interviews tomorrow, and then the tributes will be thrown into the arena. Just the very thought of the arena sends me into a headspin of ferocious thoughts, and I find myself wishing for Chaff to appear with some alcohol. In some state of hysteria and paranoia, I shake my head, and get up to go to bed, ordering our tributes to do the same. It isn't long before I fall asleep, although my night is riddled with awakening and falling asleep again.

That morning, I find my own stylist and begin to get prepped for my appearance on live TV. Instead of being grateful, I find myself agitated as I am suited in a black tuxedo and an orange bow tie. Why orange, I have no idea, but I can't really say anything. Soon enough, Shauna, Clementine, Haemon and I are backstage on the stage set up in front of the training centre. As directed, we walk to our seats, accompanied by screaming and cheering crowds. I sit, with Shauna, on a raised platform with all the other tributes stylists, mentors, and escorts, waiting patiently to watch the interviews. District one's tributes are bloodthirsty, and more interestingly, mysterious. Caesar asks about 25 questions and no one has any idea who she is. District 3 has a fidgety, ingenious pair, while District 7 are determined, and strong. Haemon is very much the same, and is protective of his family, and Clementine. Clementine appears weak and needy, although a mischievous glint in her eye gives it away to anyone who looks closely. No one does though, because the Capitol never inspects anything too closely. They're all too clueless.

After the interviews, we all head into the elevator and go shooting upwards. Tomorrow, they will be facing the arena. I can tell by their faces that Clementine and Haemon are both feeling a mix of emotions, from fear, to adrenaline. Although it's early evening, we eat our meal quickly, and I send the tributes off to bed. I know they won't be getting much sleep tonight, if any. I probably won't, either, reliving all my horrors of the 50th hunger games. I wake before dawn, though, sweating and shivering due to a cold sweat. But, just after, Naylor, my Capitol mentor from my games, wakes me. I get ready quickly, and follow him to the elevator, but not before Clementine catches me.  
"You know what to do," I reassure her. She nods solemnly. We discussed their strategy in detail, and they both decided to be allies in the arena. After Haemon goes up to the cornucopia and Clementine grabs what she can without getting killed, they will meet up somewhere away from the cornucopia and the bloodbath. It's as good a plan as any. She walks away, following Shauna to the rooftop, accompanied by Haemon and both their stylists. I step into the elevator with Naylor, and we arrive at the Control Room quickly enough. It's a huge expanse of comfy, roomy cubicles. They include a large computer that I've already familiarised myself with, a single bed, apparently so that one mentor can rest while the other keeps an eye on the tributes, and a coffee machine. I'm going to need it, because there's only me, and I want these tributes to come home badly. On the computer, one of the options are live streaming, which shows the empty plates. After the opening, it will show your tributes only, because it would be unfair to see the other tributes. Another option also shows the arena as a scanner, showing your tributes and where they are in the arena. Right now there is nothing. I get settled, and go to find Chaff, once the pleasant voice comes over the P.A. system, and tells us there is 10 minutes until the tributes rise up. I find him, alone, in his cubicle, not drinking alcohol, but downing cup after cup of coffee. He sees me and smiles, and wishes me and my tributes luck. I thank him, and am just about to start a conversation, when the voice echoes around the Control room, announcing 2 minutes before the tributes rise up. Chaff gestures to my cubicle.  
"You might want to get ready," he suggests. I nod, and walk back over. I make sure I'm comfortable, I know where everything is. I pour myself a cup of coffee and watch the live video as the tributes rise up on their plates. I check the funds and surprise myself when I see a fair amount. It seems the odds are in our favour, for now. As Claudius Templesmith's voice rings out, I focus on Haemon, who seems worried, but focused on what he has to do. Clementine looks scared; it's visible on her face, in her eyes. But, her face set, she doesn't hesitate when the gong rings out, loud and clear, across the arena.


	9. The Beginning to a New End

_**A/N:**_

_**Chapter Nine! Thanks to everyone who has read Haymitch's story so far! It means a lot to write for an audience who is interested. Hope you enjoy! Now, this is written not only in Haymitch's POV, but first Clementine's, and then Haemon's. I thought it would give a wider understanding, from a tributes POV, of the Games, the bloodbath, and everything in the arena. There will most likely be snippets in other chapters with the tributes' POV in them. Hope this isn't too confusing for you!**_

"_A successful man is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks that others have thrown at him."_

_- David Brinkley_

_**Clementine Finche**_

As I rise up on my plate, I can suddenly feel the slight breeze on my hair. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust, but the cornucopia slowly comes into view, and so does Haemon. He catches my eye and gives me a reassuring smile. I smile back and focus on what I should do. Well, what I need to do, because, in fact, I'm absolutely terrified, and I need to focus. The gong is going to go any second now. Wiping my mind, I set my sights on a backpack a few feet in front of me, and some knives ten metres in. Then, you really have to get out of here. Quickly. My eyes scan around the arena until they fall on a large expanse of pine forest. Yes, that would definitely e where Haemon and Haymitch would want me to go. Turning my attention back to the close supplies, the gong rings out across the arena, and I sprint to grab up the backpack and knives. I'm just turning on my heel to run away, when the tribute from District 10, a boy named Jente, charges at me with a spear. Panic rising inside me, I duck and turn away, before throwing a knife at him. It misses by a mile, and, in my flustered stare, I trip over and fall down. Turning to get up, Jente pins me to the ground, his spear raised over my neck. I shut my eyes tightly, frightened, hoping my family doesn't watch, and hoping it will be quick and as painless as possible. But instead of searing pain and blackness, I open my eyes to see Haemon, with Jente in his arms, his throat slit. He throws Jente to the ground and helps me up. Seeing the supplies I gathered, he nods, and together we run to the safety of the forest.

_**Haemon Darcener**_

The wait is almost excruciating; all I feel is the need to get my hands on those weapons and start the blood flowing. I've never felt like this before, it's a completely new experience. But one thing is for sure; if the gong doesn't sound soon I'll go mad and get blown sky-high by the mines, only deactivated after 60 seconds. My attention goes to the arena. It doesn't seem all that great, actually. There is a wooded area, and a rocky mountain range capped with, craters? I'm confused momentarily, until it dawns on me that they are most likely volcanos. Fantastic. _'Sadistic bastards'_ , I think. We will need to stay on higher ground. But there are most likely more horrible, horrible things hidden everywhere else. Gamemaker creations designed to kill us. Growing ever the more frustrated, I try to focus. I need weapons, I need food, and I will need supplies of water and medicine. I think of the advice Haymitch gave me before he left to go to the Control Room…  
_'Find water. It's most important, because otherwise you will never survive. Find Clementine once you are equipped; put yourself before others. There can only be one Victor, after all. But protect yourself, and Clementine, as best you can. She knows what she needs to do. Good luck, and stay alive.'  
_I know he was serious, I have to stay focused, and if not for me, for Clementine. She will be relying on me, and also protecting me. She must know in her heart of hearts, it's futile, she won't get through. A new determination flares up in me, as I realise that I need to protect that little girl. She has no one, except me. So as the gong sounds, I'm up at the cornucopia, armed with a spear, several knives, and a wicked axe with a curved blade, as the tributes reach it too. I fight off a boy from 7, and yank a backpack from under an already dead tribute. Manvel, from 3. I snort, unsurprised. But then I remember Clementine, and look around for her. To my absolute horror, she's being pinned to the ground by Jente, the boy from 10. With anger flaring up inside me, I sprint over to her, and lift is almost fragile boy from her. His throat is slit in seconds and I leave him carelessly on the ground. Giving a hand to Clementine, I help her up, and then we are off, running across the hard packed dirt, dodging the odd dead or dying tribute. They don't matter anymore, all that matters is saving Clementine.

_**Haymitch Abernathy**_

In the few lasting seconds before the Games, flashbacks to the past blind me momentarily. _Snap out of it, _I urge myself. This is important. The bloodbath could well be my tributes' one and only day. I realise, despite myself, I really do care about them, and if they die, I will care. A big part of me curses for being so soft, but I can't hide the truth. Focusing my immediate attention to the screen, I watch carefully as the bloodbath unfolds.  
Haemon charges forward with an angry energy, while Clementine is quick to grab what she can. As her hands close on a knife, she sees the district 10 tribute, Jente, and although trying her best to get away, she stumbles and falls over, helpless. Her knife missed despite her best efforts in trying to hit him, and all hope seems futile. His spear raised over her head, she shuts her eyes closed tightly, only hoping for it to be quick. Though Jente's intentions are clear, he never gets the chance to go through with them. Clementine opens her eyes to greet Haemon, and a very red, very dead Jente. Together they run for the woods. I'm comforted, no, more than that. I'm extremely relieved that both tributes have made it past the bloodbath. What is running through their minds at the moment, I have no idea and I never will. I'm just glad they're alive.


End file.
